


Those Days

by startaroux



Category: One Piece
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Growing Up, Parenthood, Reflection, Reminiscing, Sanji Is Not A Vinsmoke, starvation mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25611919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startaroux/pseuds/startaroux
Summary: Shortly after Sanji leaves the Baratie, Zeff reminisces on raising a child he never thought he wanted.
Relationships: Aka Ashi no Zeff | Red-Leg Zeff & Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 23
Kudos: 148
Collections: Set Sail One Piece Mid Year Exchange 2020





	Those Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Junemel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junemel/gifts).



> I hope you like it, June :)

He said he'd write... Right?

Zeff remembers a time, long ago. It was a time when he was fearsome. Rugged. Harsh.

He was in his prime then, sailing the seas with a crew just as terrible as the blood that stained his boots a dark, sickening red, and his name reached every corner of the East Blue.

Those were the days. Weren't they? He thought they were, at least. It's a bit hard to remember them well at his age.

Zeff remembers a storm and an unforgiving sea and the _crack_ of splintering wood. The acrid taste of seawater pushing through his mouth and into his lungs is something he won't ever forget.

He remembers sitting on a barren rock. 

He’d grown weak and thin and his everything hurt like no pain he had ever felt before, and though his body was devouring itself, he determined that he _would not cry._

He _could not cry,_ because then what if the kid heard? 

What if that brat he had saved heard him cry out in pain and despair and decided all hope was lost after all? 

Would he have cut his own leg off for nothing then?

No. If that scrawny kid was to survive, he couldn't give up his hope for anything. And for that, Zeff could not allow himself any weakness.

So he sat and he endured. He barely remembers the rescue ship arriving.

Zeff remembers the scrape of a wooden stool across his new kitchen floor and bright eyes that watched his every move.

They still weren't used to each other yet.

The kid was downright timid in those days, and Zeff never quite figured out if it was his reputation as a pirate that scared him, his hard demeanor, or something else entirely.

But the kid loved to cook more than he was afraid of Zeff, that much was certain. So he stood by him and soaked everything up like a sponge.

Every measurement, every ingredient, every flick of the wrist, the boy absorbed every ounce of knowledge he possibly could. 

He was enamored by this art and Zeff finally knew what it was to feel the warm glow of pride in his chest.

Zeff remembers the patter of little feet across wooden flooring long after the sun had gone down and the short, uneven chops of a knife on a cutting board when the boy was sure no one was still awake to find him.

He couldn’t blame the kid. After all, Zeff never let him touch a damn thing during serving hours, lest he ruin someone’s meal with his inexperienced hands.

Normally, he’d leave the young one to his devices as there wasn’t much he could screw up with no customers on the receiving end of whatever monstrosity he cooked for himself.

There was that one time, though, that Zeff had barged in on him. He’d been hoping to scare some sense into the kid that he shouldn't be up so late at night messing around with sharp objects.

He just... hadn't been expecting to scare him quite so _much._

Panic attacks were something Zeff had never encountered before, and he'll admit he wasn't exactly the best at dealing with them at first.

Seems he was learning a lot in those days too.

Zeff remembers weak kicks with sloppy form. The boy had to learn to fend for himself eventually, so Zeff never went easy on him. And the kid never asked him to.

Not once.

And despite what a scrawny little string bean he was, if there was ever a kid that could take a hit, it was this one. 

He just wouldn't give up. The determination to get stronger shone clear in every minute and every hour he spent working on his forms.

His passion for learning how to fight couldn't hold a candle to that of his passion for cooking, but once the kid learned _why_ he could never fight with his hands, it became a serious endeavor.

And as the little eggplant grew taller, the kicks grew stronger.

Zeff remembers a voice that cracked every time it changed pitch and pimples and the unwelcome smell of cigarette smoke coming from under the bathroom door.

The boy’s confidence grew with his stature and he shot his mouth off like a son of a bitch, but Zeff couldn’t have imagined him turning out any other way. 

Who raised him, after all?

He _had_ thought after the first few kicks to his head, the kid might eventually wise up and just start smoking on the roof where the wind would hide all the evidence. 

But perhaps he gave the little eggplant's intelligence too much credit.

Zeff remembers wandering eyes and red-tinted cheeks and the way his peg leg reverberated every time he smacked the hormonal brat upside his head.

This was a curious time in the kid's life where it seemed his mind was more interested in things _outside_ the kitchen than what was going on in it.

Well. Not things. _People._

Women and - he's surprised to say - sometimes men.

There isn’t much to be said about it. There isn't much he _wants_ to say about it.

Zeff would like to forget quite a good bit of it, actually. Even now, he _still_ doesn't open the broom closet door without knocking on it first.

Most recently, Zeff remembers longing looks out across the ocean's horizon.

There was a deep-seated want, a _craving_ in his little eggplant's eyes that Zeff knew all too well himself.

That desire to follow his dream, to find his ocean, to taste that _freedom_ that can only be found on the high seas was something that ran bone-deep in the both of them.

All those years ago, he never thought his split-second decision to save some unlucky brat would end up spelling his demise as a pirate.

He never thought he'd give up his name or his leg or, hell, his _life_ for that very same brat.

But then, he never thought he'd hear his own dream shouted back at him from the kid's mouth, either. 

_"I'm gonna find the All Blue,"_ he'd screamed, blood running into his eyes from the nasty kick he'd just incurred.

The resolve was set deep in this child's face. It was a determination that he _will not die_ until he's found that legendary sea he longs for.

That had been enough for Zeff. Enough to give him both his leg and the rest of his life, apparently.

And now? 

Well, now, it looks like he's on his way to do just that.

The boy's only 19 and he's brash and cocky and a basket of raging hormones and skinnier than an eel. But he's got a good head on his shoulders and he’s got two strong feet to keep him grounded.

And even though this little eggplant's sailing off with a captain who's even smaller and scrawnier than he is, Zeff finds he's hardly worried for his son.

He did say he'd write, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading 💜


End file.
